The enveloping comfort of the chair pulled at my eyelids and I slipped imperceptibly into sleep’s embrace. A moment later, I woke and looked around nervously. Why am I so tired, I thought. Wait, I know the answer to that. I’m tired because I didn’t sleep last night. Wait. That’s weird, I usually sleep during the week. Okay, there must be a good reason. I just have to think of it. Oh, right, I stayed up all night because I needed to finish the memorial sideshow. But now that that’s settled, I’m suddenly more concerned with a different question. Where am I and who are all these people?

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I recently went through the contacts on my phone with the intention of getting the jump on a little virtual spring cleaning. I planned to shorten the list and remove the contacts I no longer needed. It did not go as planned.

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The year 2010 is known in my family as the year Everything (no really everything with a capital “E” Everything, not just a few things or minor annoyances, but Everything, I’m talking major life altering events types of things everything, not some imagined emo kind of everything , just a couple of major things, or even I’m way to prone to hyperbole everything, but everything Everything) changed. This is (part) of the story of one of those things.

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After my father died in early 2012, I struggled with how to honor his memory. Dad was a truly great man and I often feel at a loss to live up to his legacy. There were many things I wanted to try, but they were, well, too grand, to big. There was no way I could pull them off without serious capital, time, or talent. Fortunately, it didn’t take long before I passed the distractions of my grandiose ideas and settled on a memorial more fitting to the man he was.

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I pride myself on being ready for most questions my kids might ask. I usually do OK, though it should’t be surprising that sometimes they catch me short and I tell them I have to get back with them with an answer. Occasionally though, they really throw me for a loop with a question so unexpected that it takes a moment to recover.

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It took weeks, but we managed to plan the perfect night out with another couple. It involved driving into Kentucky to a restaurant everyone assured me was “just the best,” getting sitters so we could enjoy adult conversation, and finishing off the evening with a play we’d all enjoy. It had all the hallmarks of a memorable night. If only we had known why it would become memorable.

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It was my junior year of high school. In about a year, a group of college students would invite me to hang out with them and I would finally start to feel as if I truly fit in somewhere with people worth fitting in with. But that was in the future and currently unknowable in my French class.